


Cigarette Burns & Bleeding Hearts

by IbelieveinMarkNutt



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl and Paul met each other online, Daryl's PoV, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Modern AU, Oral Sex, awkward first meetings, established relationship (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IbelieveinMarkNutt/pseuds/IbelieveinMarkNutt
Summary: It's just another average day for Daryl Dixon: finishing work, grabbing groceries, looking after Pop... receiving messages from the beautiful man he's agreed to leave Georgia for.With Merle in prison and his fiftieth around the corner, Paul is looking like Daryl's last shot at happiness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thought i'd contribute a little something. idk. unbetaed.

_~~cigs~~ _  
_bag of ice_  
_~~butter + eggs + cedar cheese~~ _  
_~~whole pickles~~ _  
_~~instat patatoes~~ _  
_~~bacon + saugage~~ _  
_~~pizza rolls~~ _  
_~~hot pockets~~ _  
_~~hamberger meat~~ _  
_~~Cerail~~ _  
_~~ketchups~~ _  
_biscuts + gravy packs_  
_~~coolaid~~ _  
_~~speggttii~~ _  
_~~6 pack coors~~ _

Daryl crossed ‘coolaid’ off the back of a gas station receipt, popping his makeshift grocery list and his pen back into the breast pocket of his work shirt. He pushed onwards through the empty drinks aisle towards the freezers, gritting his teeth in irritation as the front left wheel of his buggy wobbled again, having to grip the cart firmly to keep it from steering off.

His eyes threatened to droop as he fought exhaustion from a long night of his feet.

At least the hour meant that the _Walmart Express_ was pretty much empty, he preferred it that way, the quiet, being alone. Daryl knew for a fact he didn’t have the patience right then to deal with noisy crowds and slow walkers.

Daryl fetched his cell from his back pocket, flipping it open to check the time. 5:25AM. He was reminded of the missed calls he had from the penitentiary, feeling much too drained to deal with Merle and flipping the case shut.

What was he doing again? Daryl stopped his buggy and re-fetched the list from his pocket. Right, bag of ice and some biscuits and gravy, then he just needed to go check on Pop and he’d be done. He could not get home fast enough.

He did his best to ignore some kids who were taking turns with a shopping cart pushing each other up and down an aisle, drunk off their asses. Daryl glanced to see one of boys stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, out of place beside his boisterous counterparts. The sight made Daryl recollect about all the stupid shit he used to get unwillingly pulled into during middle school by Merle and his buddies.

Daryl frowned, but ultimately did nothing, leaving them to be someone else’s trouble.

Crossing off the last two items on his list, Daryl wheeled his buggy towards the checkouts. There was a single checkout girl stood waiting on him at till number three, the blondie flipping on the numbered sign to show it was in service. She smiled.

Daryl gave her a nod in greeting before he went about loading up the conveyor belt.

“Hi, you need any help packin’?” she said, sounding tired although her smile stayed sweet.

“Nah,” he replied. Daryl thought she looked much too young to be working so late, especially with such a swollen belly heavy with the later stages of pregnancy. The damn thing looked twice the size of her.

 _Beth,_ as her nametag read, began to scan through Daryl’s groceries. Were pregnant women even supposed to be on their feet so long? Daryl didn’t think so.

The teenagers in the back of the store whooped loudly, still abusing the grocery buggies as they skated around dangerously. There came a crash followed by obnoxious laughter. “ _Buck, ya retard!”_

Beth looked nervous at the commotion, glancing to the noise before she scanned through a box of _Lucky Charms_.

“Ya alone?” asked Daryl, immediately realising how his words had sounded when the checkout girl proceeded to pale.

“My manager,” wavered Beth, trying to sound confident, “gon’ be back any second.”

Daryl grunted. It hadn’t been his intention to intimidate her, having simply not wanted to leave her alone to deal with a gang of drunk youths in such a vulnerable position. He was just going to leave it, but then he saw the way she cupped her belly. “Stop ya worryin’,” he said, “Ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

Beth ceased the chewing of her lip to give a quick, unsure smile, tucking away a few blonde locks behind her ear. She scanned the rest of the items in silence, Daryl keeping it gladly as he packed his bags, the peace interrupted now and again by a holler or a laugh from behind them.

“That’ll be thirty-four dollars an’ sixty-eight cents, please.”

Daryl tossed some screwed up bills onto the counter, rummaging around in his pocket and adding his loose change to the pile.

Beth scooped the money towards herself, putting Daryl’s hard earned money into the company till before she passed back his change. “Have a nice day, sir.”

Daryl grunted, dismissive. He dropped the cents back into his pocket and collected his bags, the paper crinkling. He was dead on his feet, soles aching as he forced one foot in front of the other towards the exit. He gave a glance over his shoulder as the automatic doors swished open, the checkout girl going back to shifting about anxiously as the kids continued to run ruckus.

Daryl walked back to his truck, dropping the bags on the back seats and fishing his new carton of smokes out his inner breast pocket. He lit up, inhaling greedily before letting the smoke fly away through his mouth and nose. Damn, he’d needed that.

With a glance back towards the Walmart, Daryl noted the teens inside had now made their way to Beth’s checkout. He didn’t have to watch long to deceiver from their body language and the way they surrounded her booth that they were harassing her.

Daryl took a few more drags. Wasn’t his business.

He got into his truck, slamming the rusty car door a few times before it finally stayed shut. He rolled down the window. Daryl got his key in the ignition, smoke in between his lips, eyes catching the inside of the store for a second time: Beth was cradling her big belly, hunched in on herself, the teens still surrounding her.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Daryl flicked away his cigarette away onto the concrete. He let out a long sigh and popped back open the door.

 _Bleeding heart, my little brother_ , rang Merle in his ears as he stomped his way back towards Walmart’s entrance.

-

6:55AM read the dial in Daryl’s old truck when he finally had it on the road, narrow eyes struggling to keep open as he focused on the road ahead. It was still dark out since it was in the colder months, the fluorescent glow of his headlights lighting up the path.

He’d much rather be headed in the direction of his one-bedroom apartment above the laundromat he lived above in town, but unfortunately, he had one more stop to make.

Daryl hoped for a quick stop, make sure Will was in bed and everything was locked up before he headed off to get some well-deserved rest.

Of course, the fabled Dixon luck couldn’t even manage him that, rolling up to find the trailer's front door wide open.

“Pop?” he called through the open door, letting himself inside his childhood home, “Y’alright?”

A groan came from the bathroom, and Daryl sighed in relief. His old man was alive.

Daryl shut the door behind him and sighed again because now he was gonna have to go and sort him out.

As if the universe was trying to offer Daryl some silver lining in apology, when he reached the bathroom, there wasn’t too much of mess. The elderly Dixon had managed to get the majority of his vomit into the shitter where it belonged, only a few flecks of spittle having joining the other questionable looking blotches on the peeling linoleum.

Daryl leaned against the doorframe. He rubbed the palms of his hands into his eye-sockets until white flashed, gathering his strength.

“Alrigh’,” he began, stepping forward to pull his pops up off the dirty floor, hauling one of Will’s bony arms over his shoulder and securing an arm around his waist, “let’s get ya to bed.”

It took Will a moment to realise his own consciousness, although by that point they were already practically in his room at the back of the trailer.

“Get, get, boy, ain’t need no help,” wailed Will pathetically as he was forcibly moved, dragging his feet.

“Yeah-huh,” agreed Daryl, familiar with his father’s temper and the smell of dried vomit, unfazed.

“I said, get, y’ass,” continued Will, “Won’t be tellin’ ya again. Ger’off!”

Daryl carefully shifted Will into his bed, getting the old man out of his dirty shirt. Will spat in Daryl’s face in response. Daryl just sighed and wiped away the spittle with the back of his hand. He went to fetch a damp cloth, gentle as he cleaned him up. He did the best he could as Will bitched, and kicked, and scratched like a feral animal.

He was less inebriated than Daryl would have liked, but he eventually ran out of steam, his breathing laboured as he slumped up awkwardly against the broken head board.

“Hungry, Pop?” asked Daryl.

When he didn’t get an answer, Daryl slunk away back to his car, dejected.

After finding the right plastic Walmart bag, he fished out one of the boxes of pizza rolls he’d bought. That’d do. Daryl headed back inside. He tore open the cardboard, tossing a handful onto a plate and stuck it in the old microwave to heat up, the smell of peperoni and cheese filling the dingy kitchen.

-

Daryl watched with heavy eyes as _Rhee’s Laundromat_ came into view. He jumped out the truck to unlock the gate into the employee’s parking lot around the back, parking up in his usual spot, grabbing his groceries.

Through the back door, Daryl was met with Glenn, who glanced up from his _Game Boy Advance._ The device was blasting the same annoying tune it’d been playing all week.

“Hey, man,” greeted Glenn, bags under his eyes looking deeper than usual.

“Hey,” said Daryl. He wasn’t in the mood for talking, but… “didn’t think ya shift were tonigh’.”

Glenn slumped at that; Daryl had touched on a sore spot. “Yeah, me neither, but whatever. Amy called in sick, and you know what Dad’s like, doesn’t matter I’ve gotta be at the pizzeria tonight, gotta keep the place open twenty-four-seven.” He readjusted his cap. “The only people I’ve seen all night are the homeless and Mega Man.”

“Right,” said Daryl. Glenn had lost him at the end there.

“I mean, who even wants to wash their clothes at three in the morning? It’s so stupid.”

Daryl hummed a response, walking past the kid to go upstairs to his apartment.

“You going to bed?”

Daryl nodded, not looking back. His keys jangled as he pulled them out from his back pocket, unlocking the door to the stairs, having to balance his groceries in one arm.

“Need some help?” Glenn stood up.

“Nah, man, nah. I got it.” Daryl went through the door, kicking it shut behind him as Glenn said goodbye. He was too tired to humour him any longer, ascending the stairs, ignoring the ache in his legs.

He unpacked the frozen and chilled food, leaving the rest of the groceries on the kitchen counter for when he woke up. It could wait.

Daryl put an unlit cigarette inbetween his lips. He wasn’t technically supposed to smoke inside the apartment, but he did the majority of the time anyway, just leaving the windows open during the day to air out the smell.

He wandered numbly to his bedroom. The curtains were still drawn from the previous evening, the loud wheeze of the personal computer he’d forgotten to switch off catching his attention. Glenn had given it to him when he’d first moved in, he hadn’t thought he’d end up using it as much as he did.

He knocked the mouse with the back of his hand, the screen coming to life.

It was on the same site Daryl had left it on. His eyes flickered over the chat bubbles. 

> **DivorcedDad12:** Remind me never to agree to a midnight shift again
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Rough night?
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** I hate teenagers.
> 
> **Leather_Sub _has entered the room._**
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** I don’t know, in my experience, they can be rather risque.
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** In your experience, those kids better been of legal age
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** Yes, officer.
> 
> **TicklemyBalls** : Hey, Ricky, I bet you look cute as a button in that uniform of yours. You got a picture you can share with the class?
> 
> **Leather_Sub:** I would also very much like to view an image of that if it is available.
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** Can’t you guys keep your cocks in your pants for five minutes? This is supposed to be the causal chat room.
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** There’s my Rick! Look at you go enforcing the law in the streets and on gay sex chatrooms.
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Lmao
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** Fuck you guys

Daryl snorted softly to himself as he caught up with the conversation, scratching at the stubble under his chin. He was much too tired to join in, dragging over his mouse to exit the browser. The movement was interrupted when a private message popped up in the corner of his screen.

> **Jesusiscuming:** Hey, D

Daryl let out a resigned breath. His eyes were burning. He could not physically stay awake any longer. He needed to go to bed and…

> **harley-d1969:** hi
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Glad you’re back
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** How was work?
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Anything fun happen? :)

Daryl sat down. He flexed his hands over the keyboard, used his index fingers to clumsily tap back a reply, squinting against the bright glare of the screen.

> **harley-d1969:** what you think i work at dam gas stateon not some funfair

Daryl sat back and watched as the bottom of the chat box claimed Jesus was typing out a reply, said reply coming much faster than Daryl’s own.

> **Jesusiscuming:** I work in a grocery store and fun things happen there all the time.

Daryl huffed a half-laugh. Of course, Paul of all people would find fun in the mundane; the guy’s positivity was off the charts, not to mention he was a magnet for all sorts of unusual situations.

> **Jesusiscuming:** I’m supposed to be there in 20, actually
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** trying to summon the energy to leave the apartment
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Are you free for a call?

Daryl waited to make sure Jesus was done typing before composing a reply. Hearing Paul’s voice sounded tempting, but he knew he wasn’t going to be conscious for long, and didn’t want to mess the other around.

> **harley-d1969:** na talk later i gotta go sleep
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Awh, okay
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Are you excited about next week? I made a list of stuff for us to do whilst you’re here. :)

Daryl’s mouth went dry. Paul had been wearing him down for months to head over to Richmond, Virgina so they could spend the one of Daryl’s weeks off together. He’d finally agreed to it a few days ago and it was all Paul would talk about.

He wondered what Merle would think if he knew his younger brother was heading off to another state to meet a man he’d met online in a gay porn site’s chat room. Call him a pussy faggot, no doubt.

> **harley-d1969:** yea
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** :D :D :D :D
> 
> **Jesusiscumming _has sent (1) attachment._**
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** I’m very excited- can you tell?
> 
> **harley-d1969:** haha
> 
> **harley-d1969:** night paul
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** Good night, Daryl. Sleep well  <3

Daryl exited the browser and unplugged his computer at the wall so he wouldn’t have to sit through it booting down noisily for half an hour.

His thoughts drifted back to Paul, gut churning at the promise he’d made him. He chewed at his thumb. It’s not like he could back out now, not without hurting Paul’s feelings and incidentally ruining whatever it was they had going on. That wasn’t an option. The thought of never hearing from Paul again was even more nauseating to Daryl than leaving Georgia and travelling all that way to meet him.

He stopped himself from dropping down the rabbit hole of his mind completely. He needed to sleep.

Daryl crawled into bed and groaned in bliss as he sagged into his mattress. He fumbled off his jeans blindly, dead to the world in minutes. Exhaustion left Daryl dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two coming in the next couple of days.  
> yes, there will be porn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of days?... haha, i meant 179.

Daryl awoke early afternoon to the taste of sleep in his mouth and sand in his eyes.

He sat up, rolling a shoulder and groaning at the tightness of his back. The hardened lacerations there were always their most uncomfortable first thing. He stared up at the ceiling, taking a moment as his thoughts re-aligned themselves for a new day. His stomach rumbled, and Daryl took it as his cue to drag himself up to make a late breakfast. Two and a half pizza rolls last night just hadn't cut it, and now Daryl was starving.

He didn't bother pulling on pants, going into his kitchen to flick on the coffee machine; another invention Glenn had palmed off on him Daryl hadn't expected to use that was now a part of his every day. Daryl fished a mug out of the sink and put it under the nozzle. He wrapped a few pop tarts out of their cellophane and dropped them into the toaster.

Back in the bedroom, his phone chimed in his jeans' pocket, and Daryl went to retrieve it. He flipped it open as he came back through, groggy as he flicked his hair out his eyes. He had two more missed calls from the prison and an unopened message.

He prioritised the message when he saw the recipient.

> **Paul**  
>  Hope I'm not interrupting your sleep, but I just saw a dog riding on a motorcycle, and it was too big of a deal for me not to message you about it.

Daryl took his time reading the message, smirking the further through it he read. The toaster popped out its contents by the time he'd finished. Daryl grabbed a toaster pastry blindly, taking a big bite into the molten chocolate, blowing through his mouth as it scalded his tongue.

> **Daryl**  
>  he rideing by himself

Daryl was just about to flip the case shut when:

> **Paul**  
>  Call?

Daryl sighed heavy. He thumbed the keys clumsily with one hand.

> **Daryl**  
>  OK

Exactly five seconds after Daryl's phone informed him SMS has been sent; his phone was buzzing in his hand. Daryl chewed the remaining pop tart in his mouth, a little sweat breaking out on his forehead as he swallowed quickly. He hated talking on the phone, but he did it if it meant he got to hear Paul's voice.

"Hey," grumbled Daryl, fiddling with the dial on his toaster.

"Good afternoon, sleepy head." Paul's voice was melodic and warm. "How was your sleep?"

"Alrigh'." Daryl cleared his throat. "How's work?"

Paul sighed, making a soft, strained noise on the other end as he stretched out. "I think I'm developing carpal tunnel, but other than that, pretty good."

Daryl snorted. "God damn drama queen."

"Oh, really? We're gonna go down that route, Dixon?" Paul teased, "You're the biggest _God damn drama queen_ I know."

Daryl rolled his eyes with a smirk at Paul's attempt at a Georgian accent, slumped back against the counter. "Ya don't know what ya talkin' ‘bout, man."

"Mhm." He could hear Paul's smile through the receiver. "Do I need to mention the Denny's incident?"

"Fuck you," Daryl spat out, grinning.

Paul laughed.

"So much for tellin' ya in confidence."

"You did tell me in confidence, I haven't told a soul," came Paul's voice, unmistakably teasing, "Well if you don't count Maggie, and the guys at work, and Eric, and his husband, Aaron. Oh, and the chat.  And my next door neighbour. And the pizza delivery guy..."

Daryl clicked his teeth with a smirk. He shook his head.

"Okay, so, maybe I've told more people than I thought, but that's beside the point."

"An' what point was that?"

"That you can trust me with your deepest, darkest secrets." There was a rustle.

Despite the teasing tone, Daryl flexed his hand and cast his gaze down on the cylinder-shaped burns on the skin between his fingers. "Hm."

"Ah, can you give me a sec? There's someone at the door."

"Mm."

Daryl looked at the tattered calendar stuck to his fridge; the entire month unmarked other than a single world on the 18th. Paul's.

Five more days.

Daryl felt nervous.

-

"Daryl, ya'll are coverin' Dwight's shift this weekend," said Joe, poking his head into the storage room.

Daryl, halfway through unloading boxes of dried goods and cigarettes, stopped his stacking. "Booked that off, man."

"Well, I'm unbookin' it." Joe pulled away.

Daryl, who usually submitted to Joe's unfairness, followed his boss. "Can't. It's important."

Joe ignored the old lady at the counter in favour of turning on Daryl. "Oh, ‘m real sorry, Daryl, I didn't realise you were the one in charge ‘round here." He jabbed a finger into the middle of his chest. "Ya working this weekend."

Daryl squeezed fists at his side. "I can't."

"In that case, I won't be needin' ya all next month!" Joe jabbed again, harder.

Daryl cast his gaze down. "Joe, c'mon, man. I need the hours-"

"Guess I'll be countin' on ya comin' in this weekend, then." Joe gave a final jab and turned to go to the cash register.

The little old lady began wittering about forgetting the number of the pump she'd used, Joe hurrying her along impatiently.

Daryl watched them, hands shaking by his sides in rage. He did nothing but work, night-and-day shifts back to back, always came in last minute without question, covering his co-workers ‘cause they were out getting shit-faced with their friends, or recovering from the night before. He was undoubtedly Joe's hardest worker, but here he was again, getting the shit end of the stick.

"Ya know what?" Daryl suddenly hollered, catching the attention of everyone in the store as he stepped forward, "Ya can take this job an' shove it up yer' ass! Fuck you! An' fuck this place!"

One lousy week off, all he'd wanted was one lousy week off out the entire 4 years he'd been there working his skin down to the bone. Daryl shoved a shelf-full of chips onto the floor in his rebellion, a row of candy bars, some soda and a cardboard cut-out advertisement of Joe's preferred candidate to win the local mayoral election.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Joe went to stop Daryl's rampage.

"Don't fucking touch me, man, I'll tan your hide," growled Daryl, smacking away Joe's hand from his shirt, nostrils flared. He gained an enormous amount of satisfaction in the way Joe raised his hands and, wisely, stepped back.

"Better be gettin' m' paycheck for this month," Daryl finished with. He stopped to pick up a purse the old lady had dropped in her shock, pressing it into her hands before he flashed Joe one more scowl, and stormed out the front exit.

-

"Are you all packed and ready?"

"Uh, sure."

"Is there anything you wanna go see while you're here? There're some monuments, you like that kind of thing?"

"Mm."

"We don't- Hey, what's wrong?"

"Ain't nothin'."

"But you sound really down today."

"…Quit yesterday."

"Quit?"

"Yeah. At the gas station."

"What?! What happened? Tell me everything."

"Don't matter none. Jus' lost m' temper ended up tellin' Joe to shove it up his ass."

"So, Drama Queen Dixon made an appearance, then?"

"Pft. Might ‘a knocked over a thing or two."

Paul laughed.

-

> **Jesusiscuming:** Anyway. I digress.
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** I can't believe how close it is until Friday. Can you, D?
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** Friday?
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** What's happenin friday?
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** …Idon'tknowifIshouldsay

Daryl chewed his thumb. He still didn't understand how they could all type so damn fast.

> **harley-d1969:** ye
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** :) :) :)
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** Holy-fucking-shit. Is Mr D finally getting himself some D? From our favourite, anal loving holy spirit no less?
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** I think I just pissed my pants.
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** lmao
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** Is this an open invitation?
> 
> **harley-d1969:** no
> 
> **TicklemyBalls:** Wowie, I have never see D reply so fast before. You sure must have something real special going on under all those hippie clothes
> 
> **Jesusiscuming:** ;) they call me the prostate whisperer. Forget water into wine, I can turn water into lube.
> 
> **DivorcedDad12:** That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life.

Daryl agreed.

He glanced to the date at the bottom right of the screen. He was beginning to panic.

-

It was officially The Day Before Daryl Dixon left Georgia, and Daryl still wasn't sure what ‘packed and ready' entailed for the ordinary person. When he and Merle drifted around before he got his ass in the tank, there wasn't any kind of preparation involved in it. Just the clothes on their backs and a makeshift meal from some gas station.

Was there something you were supposed to bring when visiting friends across states?

He had planned on taking his toothbrush, a handful of boxers and maybe a spare shirt, but now he wasn't so sure. Now Paul's words had him doubting.

 _Fuck it_ , Daryl eventually decided after he'd sat over-thinking for half an hour, _it'll do._

He proceeded to spend the entire night laying on his mattress, awake, worn hands threaded together on his stomach. Butterflies were swirling beneath his fingertips, and Daryl kept making these shaky little breaths through his mouth he couldn't control.

What if Paul doesn't find him attractive in real life than in the few pictures he'd sent him?

What if Daryl does something wrong, says something wrong, intimately or otherwise?

What if Paul doesn't even show up?

…

The answers were irrelevant. It was too late for Daryl to go back now. Much too late.

-

"Okay, so where is it?" he mumbled around his cigarette, phone pressed tight against his face like a lifeline.

Richmond was already too much for Daryl's out-in-the-sticks sensibilities, and he was overwhelmed by the amount of traffic and noise around him. It was like a different world.

He'd ended up leaving the apartment two hours earlier than he'd been planning, passing Route 16 by the time of his dashboard said 5 AM. It was long open road after long open road, and Daryl ended up having to pull at every pit stop to use the restroom.

He took a drag and blew it out his window once traffic came to another stop, his dirt-ridden car a stark contrast to all the clean, economically friendly convertibles he was sandwiched in-between.

"Okay. There should be a 7/11 on your right, that means you're on the right street. At the traffic lights just turn right and you'll be able to see it, it's too big not to," chattered Paul in Daryl's ear. He sounded much calmer than Daryl felt. "Just pull around the back, and there's parking there."

Daryl looked right, feeling a little less stressed that there was indeed a 7/11 there. He hoped he wasn't on a different street that also just happened to have a 7/11 on its right sidewalk, too.

Paul continued his soothing words, telling him he was waiting for Daryl at the back of the lot, that he wouldn't be able to miss him.

Daryl's mouth was dry.

He caught sight of Paul straight away as he pulled into the private parking lot as he'd been instructed, flipping his shut his phone since Paul's help was no longer needed, tossing it aside onto the passenger seat.

Butterflies squirmed in Daryl's gut as he jumped out, flicking his filter onto the ground and crushing the cherry to ash with his heel.

Daryl had to concentrate on putting on foot in front of the other, his feet and legs feeling heavy and uncooperative. He tried to keep a neutral expression, to loosen the habitual scowl that plagued his face.

"Hi," said Paul first, looking almost sheepish. He was a good bit shorter than Daryl had envisioned, although less effeminate, with an easy on the eyes masculinity. Paul dragged his top teeth over his bottom lip nervously, and Daryl was reminded how fiercely, instinctively attracted to him he was. Seeing him right there in front of him was a terrifying kind of different, the buffer of a screen no longer present. This was the real deal, now. He was really going through with this gay thing. No more safety nets. 

Daryl shifted a dirty boot against the concrete like a child. He dropped his gaze. "Hey."

Paul moved to close the gap between them. He pulled Daryl down into a hug, palms pressing into his back.

Daryl ceased up at the contact, heart hammering away in his chest. He didn't know what to do with his hands; he wasn't used to being hugged. In the end, he settled for a few awkward pats on Paul's back. Having Paul so close was driving his insides haywire, Daryl's mouth dry.

Paul pulled away, and his eyes crinkled with his smile as Daryl was forced to meet them. Paul smoothed over Daryl's shoulders, rested his hands against his biceps. He smiled wider, and Daryl had to look away again. He prayed Paul couldn't feel his tenseness, couldn't hear the deafening beat against his ribcage, couldn't smell the sweat dripping under his arms.

"How was the drive?" asked Paul.

"Not bad." Daryl's words were heavy on his tongue, his hands feeling misplaced by his sides. Was he supposed to be touching Paul too?

"It's so nice to meet you in person after so long." Paul sounded much calmer than Daryl felt, every word that left his mouth dripping with a genuine warmness that made it a little difficult for Daryl to comprehend it as honest. He was still waiting for the catch.

"…Yeah." Daryl flushed.

"So," Paul squeezed and released him. "You hungry?" He took Daryl's hand before he could reply, tugging as he guided him from the car park, out onto the sidewalk.

Daryl felt a little panicked by the intimate contact. They were out in public, not only that but they were surrounded by people, more people than Daryl had ever seen on one damn street before. What did Paul think he was doing? Daryl couldn't help but look around at the strangers, relieved and admittedly a little confused as to why no one seemed to care.

"I was thinking we could go to my favourite diner for lunch." Paul glanced back and releasing his hold when he saw the look on Daryl's face. "Sorry," he apologised, "I should have asked first."

Daryl wanted to say that he just wasn't expecting it, that he very much wanted to hold Paul's hand, had been daydreaming about the possibility of being able to touch Paul like that for months. He too anxious to say it in case it came out wrong. Instead, Daryl shrugged up a shoulder.

Paul pushed on confidently, "It's just down the road here. Hopefully, the lunch rush should have died down by now."

"Hm." Daryl followed behind.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. It kept up as they went into the diner, were given a booth by the peppy waitress, told to take their time as she handed them menus and skipped away to greet the next customer coming in.

"This can be my treat since you came all the way out here." Paul flipped over his menu, eyes scanning over the drinks.

"Don't need no hand-out."

Paul stopped his perusing to give Daryl a puzzled look. "Hand-out?"

Daryl rubbed his ear against his shoulder. "Can pay my own bill."

Paul leaned over the table and set a hand on top of Daryl's, which Daryl had to force himself to not retract from instinctually again. "Daryl, I'm taking you out for lunch because I like you, not because you're some charity case."

Daryl was silent, looking at their hands.

"Let me do this for you, please," continued Paul.

When Daryl looked up, Paul smiled hopefully. "Fine," he relinquished.

Paul kept trying to make conversation with Daryl, but Daryl was struggling terribly to find anything longer than a defensive, few word answer to say in response. He was terrified of unintentionally offending him or oversharing (like he hadn't done that already.)

He knew he was bad at saying the right thing to people like Paul. It was hard not to be ignorant when it was all he'd known for so long- Jesus, why was he still thinking like that? ‘People like Paul.' Was he still really in this much denial that he wasn't people like Paul? It wasn't him and them. Daryl _was_ them.

Wasn't the whole point of this trip to finally prove that to himself?

The waitress came back to take their orders. Paul ordered a diet Pepsi and a cheese plate, claiming he'd had a late breakfast. Daryl grunted he'd have a Pepsi, too, and a medium burger.

"Six dollars fer' crackers an' cheese?" Daryl asked in disbelief. Paul could have gone to God damn Walmart for that at a fraction of the price.

Paul smiled in a fond way that caught Daryl off-guard a little. "Yeah, but it's good cheese though. Five different types." The man held up a palm to illustrate his point.

"Uh-huh." Daryl ran a thumb along the edge of the table.

They drifted back to silence. The waitress returned with their drinks, Paul claimed diet Pepsi tasted better than regular Pepsi, Daryl grunted his acknowledgement. There was more silence. Daryl got up to take another anxiety-piss. He came back at Paul was gazing out the window. Daryl eased back into his booth and joined him in his people watching.

Their food came quickly since it was rather empty, Daryl immediately taking a bite out his burger, hungry. It dripped blood onto the plate. Paul watched him, eating a cracker after he'd thanked their server.

They both ate a little while.

"I wish I could do that," said Paul, breaking the tense silence again. Daryl looked a little puzzled, so the man gestured to a kid at the bar with a skateboard at his feet. He shared, "I was good with a bike, but skateboards just never seemed to agree with me. Strange, huh, considering the parkouring?"

Daryl acknowledged with a hum and a bob. "Used to could," he replied.

"Huh?" Paul blinked. "What does that mean?" he laughed, topic derailed.

"Means I used to could." Daryl dropped another French fry in his mouth. Paul laughed, the sound light-hearted and far from malicious. Daryl had lived a lifetime being a Dixon long enough to know when laughter was mocking and unpleasant.

"I have never heard that in my entire life," reiterated Paul.

"Nah." Daryl didn't believe him.

"I'm serious!" exclaimed Paul.

Daryl rolled his eyes. He re-shifted in the booth. "Means y'used to be able to do somethin' but ya can't do it no more."

Paul ah-ed and teased, "I'll be sure to add that to my deep south phrasebook when I get home."

"'S alright, ya can say ‘redneck,' won't be offended none." Daryl cracked a smile.

Paul shook his head. "You're not a redneck, Daryl."

Daryl liked how his name sounded on Paul's lips, watching as another piece of fancy cheese went past them, how they pursed as he chewed. "Sure, Paul, whatever ya say."

Daryl suddenly felt silly for being so intimated and anxious. This was Paul, homosexual or not. This was the same man who messaged Daryl every day for the last six months straight asking how he was, the one who sent him goofy selfies and scandalous nudes. The one who had spent a whole hour the previous night sending reams upon reams of paragraphs into his inbox on a new book he thought Daryl would like.

Daryl had been worrying this man, this man right here who had given him nothing but kindness and interest from day one, was going to be offended by something Daryl said? That he wouldn't like Daryl? Didn't like Daryl?

He had nothing to be anxious about, so why was Daryl still stubbornly fuelling this anxiety that had no ground in reality?

Habit, he supposed.

Daryl's shoulders loosened, and his tight-lipped smile became more natural.

-

Paul's apartment was like no apartment Daryl had ever set foot inside before; there were paintings nailed up on the walls and second-hand rugs on old wooden floors, a working thermostat, well-used sofa and enough books to stock a second-hand corner store. How many bookshelves did one man need?

"It's not much," said Paul, causal like he didn't live in the comfiest place Daryl had ever seen, "but make yourself at home."

Home. It definitely felt like one of those.

Daryl took off his boots and moved to get a closer look around, stopping to inspect a bookshelf that housed different precious stones and gems in front of an array of old paperbacks.  "What're these?" he asked, picking up a chunk of blue calcite.

"My crystals."

"You're what now?" Daryl tilted his head back and saw, with surprise, Paul was blushing.

"My crystals," he repeated, more shyly. He picked up one of the amethysts. "I meditate with them."

Daryl snorted, and Paul tapped his arm with a playful scowl.

"God damn hippie bullshit," grumbled Daryl, although he gently set the calcite down, brushing his fingers over a couple more.

They were pretty, and Daryl could imagine them wrapped up in careful, nimble fingers as the man beside him practised whatever kumbaya shit he was into at that moment.

He realised Paul was staring at him, a gentle quirked smile on his lips. "What?" asked Daryl, the look making him feel a little self-conscious.

"Nothing," replied Paul, "Just admiring how handsome you are."

It was Daryl's turn to blush. He didn't say anything, but Paul seemed to understand even though Daryl wasn't sure what he was trying to say, resting his head against his arm.

"Movie?" offered Paul.

"Sure."

They ended up watching _Mission Impossible_ as it was established Daryl had never seen it or 98% of all the other films Paul flicked through on his ex's Netflix account. "Wanna cuddle?" he asked him as they waited for the building's shitty internet connection to work.

The idea of contact with Paul, intimate contact with Paul, caused warmth to seep through his entire body. "Alrigh'," Daryl agreed gruffly, then immediately wanted to hide his face in his hands at how unenthusiastic he sounded. He was much too shy to try a take two.

It seemed he didn't need to as Paul smiled like Daryl had just given him the most precious thing in the world. He rested his head against Daryl's shoulder, arms looping around his torso, not commenting on the rapid-fire beat of Daryl's heart. After a while, Paul's hand moved upwards to the back of Daryl's head to play with his hair, which Daryl thought felt nice.

Daryl's arms remained loose at his sides, but Paul didn't seem to mind and didn't comment. It put Daryl at ease.

The sky darkened, and Paul started to make them spaghetti for dinner, claiming it was a friend's recipe. Daryl hovered by the counter and watched the smaller work. "You like wine?" asked Paul, already retrieving glasses from the cabinet as onion sautéed in a pan.

"Uh," said Daryl, fiddling with the handle of a drawer behind his back, "never had it."

Paul gave Daryl a look. "I'm sorry? You're 49-years-old, and you've never had a glass of wine before?"

Daryl internally cringed at his age. He shook his head. "Nah. ‘s a woman's drink."

"I guess I must be a woman, then." Paul's tongue peeked out the corner of his mouth as he poured himself a glass.

"Paul," began Daryl worriedly, "I-"

"Uh-uh, you can't be backtracking now, Dixon," the other flashed a smile to make it clear he was teasing.

Daryl harrumphed, but his chest felt a little lighter.

Paul continued, "Will Miss Dixon be taking a glass?"

Daryl gave a smirk. "Guess."

-

It turned out, Daryl liked wine. It also turned out; he liked getting his dick kissed by men, too. By handsome, attractive, gorgeous men named Paul Rovia with his big sea-foam eyes, rough beards, long hair that cascaded shoulders and short, well-kept fingernails that dragged lightly on his skin. Daryl had a suspicion deep down he already knew that last one.

They were in Paul's bedroom, and Paul was out all his clothes, on his knees at Daryl's feet, like Daryl was something to worshipped and wanted. The air was cold against his legs and crotch, belt unbuckled, jeans around his ankles. Paul's warm mouth entirely made up for it.

Daryl watched Paul's eyes close, watched him lean in and kiss him a few times. The brush of his lips sent tingles from his gut down his thighs.

Daryl's whole body seised up as said mouth wrapped itself around the head of his cock. Daryl took a fistful of the sheets. He gaped down at Paul in disbelief.

"Okay?" Paul's mouth was full, so the word came out a little muffled.

Daryl nodded jerkily. He had never been so okay with something in his entire adult life, struggling to keep his breathing at a regular pace, thighs trembling without his permission.

Paul's big eyes gazed affectionately up at him before they closed, tongue darting out a few times to start with, lapping up the soft skin. Daryl held his breath, watching in silence. Paul drew back, held Daryl in his hand, letting his breath ghost over him a few moments. He moved in again, and his lips brushed his shaft, trailing lazy kisses, giving particular attention to his head when he reached it.

Paul pulled back Daryl foreskin, flattening his tongue as he drew Daryl's slit over it. He teased at it with the tip of his tongue before peeking it inside. Daryl gasped, hips jerking without permission. "'M-" he stammered.

Paul didn't give Daryl time to finish, eyes peering up at the older man with a faux-innocence as he bobbed forward, swallowing Daryl down his throat. He smiled at Daryl's endearing expression, letting his cock assault the back of his throat as he moved steadily.

Paul released Daryl with a pop, hot mouth moving downward again, kissing him with enthusiasm. Daryl's thigh trembled.

It was when Paul took his balls in his mouth Daryl's shaky composure broke, a moan past his lips before he could stop it. Daryl balled up some of Paul's sheets into a fist, head falling back against the wall.

Daryl was not sure whether Paul was very, very talented at head or he'd just been deprived of sexual release for so long it felt more intense. Daryl had a sneaky feeling it was a bit of both.

"What? You've never had a guy put your balls in his mouth before?" teased Paul, already knowing the answer.

Daryl was too dazed to do anything but shake his head.

Paul grinned, pumping Daryl through his hand. He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something snarky which was cut off as Daryl came, hips bucking up involuntarily.

Paul looked taken aback; streams come stuck to his face. Daryl seemed more surprised than Paul did.

"Uh," said Paul intelligibly.

There was a beat of silence. Daryl struggled to get a hold of his breathing. "M'sorry," he stuttered, cheeks hot.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Daryl." Paul rubbed Daryl's leg affectionally a few moments. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing it onto the bed sheets.

Daryl hung his head in shame.

"You know, I think that was my personal best." Paul tried to cheer Daryl up.

The corner of Daryl's mouth upturned.

"I'll be close to getting the gold if I keep it up." Paul smiled as it worked.

Daryl's own smile grew.

"Maybe even, dare I say, the world record."

"…Pft, shud' up."

Paul laugh and upturned Daryl's chin to kiss him. He straddled one of Daryl's legs.

Daryl felt unsure what this new position meant but still groped a hand at Paul's crotch, wanting to make him feel like he just had.

Paul seemed to be into it immediately, which made Daryl feel less stupid, alternating between rocking into Daryl's hand and against his thigh. Daryl's cock twitched in arousal already despite its flaccid state.

Daryl met his gaze nervously.

"It's okay; you're just new to this." Paul's smile was patient as Daryl looked his way, cupping the older man's face.

Daryl didn't think his face could physically burn any hotter, the crimson bleeding into the tips of his ears poking out from uncut hair. He nodded, he would unable to vocalise his thoughts even if he had any coherent ones.

Paul kissed him a few more times. "Don't worry," He bit Daryl's red ear before whispering into it reassuringly, "I know you're a quick learner."

-

It was late. Daryl couldn't sleep. His mind was too alert buzzing with the events of the day and the noise of the city.

Daryl stared up at the apartment ceiling, Paul's comfy mattress against his back, clean duvet hung over his body and his head over the softest pillow he'd ever rested on. He could still smell the hippie incense Paul had lit in the kitchen, a cool breeze drifting through the open door of Paul's balcony causing the wind chimes to tinkle together lightly. Far away, a car's horn blared.

Turning his head, Daryl watched Paul sleep deep beside him, his lover's expression peaceful as his breath came and went steadily. It warmed Daryl's insides, the sensation unfamiliar but comfortable.

Here he was, a Dixon who'd finally left Georgia and just got his dick sucked by the most beautiful man- person- in the entire world.

He smiled despite himself. Maybe this being-a-faggot business wasn't so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://screamingpies.tumblr.com/) (NSFW GORE)


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